The betrayal
by fangirl1989
Summary: The defining moments in our life are not always sought after, or even noticed when happening. It's not until later, can you look back on them and see them for what they really were. Harry was about to have such a moment. And it all started with Dudley Dursley.


The defining moments in our life are not always sought after, or even noticed when happening. It's not until later, can you look back on them and see them for what they really were.

Harry was about to have such a moment. And it all started with Dudley Dursley.

Bang! A loud noise awoke Harry from his as per usual troubled dreams, dreams filled with bright green bursts of light and evil laughter. The banging had come from is enormous Uncle thudding down the stairs.

Harry stared up at the ceiling of the closet he was currently one again occupying, remembering the fight of epic proportions that had taken place the previous day with Dudley thus resulting in his current less than favourable living arrangements.

After the loss of Sirius he had been stuck at the Dursley's, which in and of itself was enough to put him in a bad mood, but dealing with his agonizing grief at the same time he hadn't been his usual self.

Usually he kept his head down, he tried not to react to Dudley's antagonising remarks and his Aunt and Uncle's bullying, but when Dudley had pushed him down the stairs, because he was in his way of getting to his destination, being as per usual the kitchen. Harry did something he rarely if ever did, he completely and utterly snapped.

He had grabbed Dudley by his shirt and slammed him into the wall putting his hands around his throat and squeezing. It was like all sane and rational thought had momentarily left him, leaving behind only a raging monster bent on destruction. He had known in that moment that if his Uncle Vernon hadn't come and pushed him off Dudley, he wouldn't have stopped until every last breath had left his cousin's fat pig like face.

Looking back on the event he was surprised that he had been able to even temporarily overpower his cousin, considering their vast difference's in size. Harry chalked it up to that whole adrenalin theory, though usually that applies for life and death situations, such as a mother pushing a heavy object off her child, not being bullied by your whale of a cousin. He vaguely recalled a sort of shiver going through his body as he strangled him, like he was unintentionally expelling some sort of power, power fuelled by anger, power that perhaps had lent him his temporary strength. Harry felt confused, he tried to remember ever feeling that way before, white hot anger so strong that it seemed more then anger, like it was pure blind rage.

He remembered feeling angry at Bellatrix when she had pushed Sirius through the veil, but even then it was more a profound sense of instant loss then of anger. It Harry was being honest with himself, which a lot of the time he tended not to do, burying his uncomfortable questions and doubts deep into the recesses of his mind, he had to admit he was changing. It had started slowly that summer, he noticed that he lost his temper more.

Though he thought to himself, he had very good reason to, as none of his friends were even replying to his letters, especially after everything that had happened to him, he needed them more then ever. But he knew it went beyond that. Ever since Sirius's death he had felt different, like something long suppressed had been unlocked in him.

Last year, as much as he hated his cousin, he would never have thought of strangling him, ok maybe in a few of his daydreams, but never in reality.

But the thing that truly scared Harry was his lack of remorse and guilt, he simply didn't care. "I could always have said that the muggles were abusing me, which is the truth after all. I'm the bloody boy who lived, even if I had killed him they would have looked the other way."

Harry sat up suddenly as that last thought flitted through his head, were exactly had that come from? Surely he would never think such an awful thing. He had definitely never used his fame for personal gain before, not even for small things such as favor with teachers, or girls, even though the opportunities frequently presented themselves, and he most certainly, most definitely had never thought of using his fame for murder,.

He had never seriously considered killing someone before, ok Bellatrix Lestrange aside. But he considered himself like Batman, an orphan with a dark past who had shades of grey in him, but still having a clear sense of wrong and right, with one line not to cross, don't kill.

He watched as a spider made it's way down from the roof, gracefully sailing down like some sort of aerial performer, it's web glittering in the darkness of the cramped closet. Harry stretched out his legs as far as they could go, which unfortunately wasn't anywhere near far enough for his rapidly developing frame. He had grown quite a few inches physically over the summer and was now starting to resemble a man instead of a boy. The change seemed to be more then just a physical one, Harry contemplated his nightly dreams.

He had been having the same nightmares that had always plagued him. But now they were more frequent and had him waking up feeling like his skull was about to crack open with their intensity.

Something else was changing, in his dreams he usually just felt hatred and anger. Now it was tinged with something else, a kind of curiosity perhaps.

He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, the Dursley's had forbidden him to use the bathroom throughout the night, ensuring his compliance by placing a padlock on the door. He now had a bucket to use, as the Dursley's had been upset when he had wet the bed, something he was humiliated by enough as it was, without the following howler like screaming that followed from Petunia, but doing so quickly filled the small closet with a foul odor, so every night he faced the same dilemma, to wait until morning to use the bathroom, or put up with the foul odour, which certainly did nothing to repress his anger at the Dursley's. What had he ever done to them, he thought to himself bitterly, "I was born that's it, yet they choose to work me like a house elf. I bet Malfoy would feel like Christmas had come if he could see me now."

A brief banging from the door was the only notice given before the door to his closet was violently wrenched open and his Uncle's angry red face appeared. "Now boy listen here!" he started angrily, "There's to be no noise or mischief form you tonight, I have a very important meeting in the morning and need my sleep, if you fail you will be punished severely!" He barked at Harry before slamming the door so hard that the spider sharing Harry's closet wobbled dangerously on his web.

Harry waited for the usual click that signalled that the door had been locked, but it didn't come. He waited for a few minutes before quietly making his way over to the door.

Trying hard not to make a sound he carefully grasped the doorknob and slowly pulled, the door opened. It seemed his Uncle's exceptionally red face tonight had indicated that he had overindulged in the brandy and forgotten to lock the closet.

Harry now had a choice to make, he knew an opportunity like this wouldn't present itself to him again. But the warning's about leaving his house by the members of the order flashed through his head. "To hell with their warnings", he thought to himself. They certainly haven't been looking out for me lately, they seem to have forgotten I exist." He knew deep down that there must be a good reason they weren't writing and that worried him, it was his worry that maybe the order had been attacked that drove him to finally make the decision to leave.

Quietly grabbing his stuff he left, he got Hedwig's cage and make a motion to keep quiet, as intelligent as ever she knew what he was asking and kept quiet simply peering up at him with her eyes glowing in the night. He reached the front door and left, a feeling of delight at his rebellious act temporarily overcoming him. His joyful feelings of rebellion were short lived however when he considered what to do now He thought of the Knight bus, but then that might be a bit risky, considering who might be on it. Also the fact that signalling for it would have him in trouble for using magic made him forget that idea.

Well then I guess I have no choice but to fly, he grabbed his broom and mounted it. He opened up Hedwig's cage and told her to fly ahead to the burrow, watching her take flight into the air he soon followed, feeling what he imagined would be a similar sense of relief as her to once again be airborne and feel the air whipping across your face. It was truly one of the things Harry most enjoyed as it gave him a wonderful sense of freedom that he so often felt like he lacked. He didn't admit it to others, but he often felt like a puppet, with both Dumbledore and the order, expecting him to follow orders blindly without asking questions.

"Well" he thought to himself "my day's of being a good little soldier are gone, from now on I'm asking questions and demanding answers."

He soon spotted the uniquely shaped burrow, his heart filled with joy at seeing this home that held so many fond memories for him. He flew down and felt the faint zing as he flew through the wards which identified him as friend not foe, he flew down to the ground and dismounted from his broom.

He didn't want to wake anyone at this late hour so he quietly entered through the back. He heard the voices of Molly and Arthur Weasley, the people he considered like family. As mad as he was at the lack of response to his letters, he was happy to see them safe, they seems to be in a heated discussion, which explained while they were still unaware of his presence.

He was about to call out to them when something they said stopped him in his tracks.

"Honestly Arthur!" Molly Weasley said, a glass of firewhiskey in her hand, "I don't know how much longer I can stand having that Potter brat around."

Harry felt tears instantly fill his eyes at this woman he considered a mother figure saying such a cruel thing.

"I know darling, I don't like it either, " Arthur said, putting his hand on her shoulder consolingly, "but remember what Dumbledore said." His voice dropped at this point, causing Harry to inch forward straining to hear. "We won't have to put up with him much longer, the prophecy said he would die fighting He who must not be named.

Harry's eyes widened at this information, the man he had long since considered a hero was betraying him, planning on him dying like some child soldier. He didn't know how much more he could take,

"I know," Molly said taking a sip of her drink, I just worry about the influence he might have on the children, I mean he might seem normal now but he's obviously evil, he has a piece of he who must not be named is head, his horocrux, we must be careful around him."

Harry attempted to run outside, only to trip over in his haste, making a loud crash. Molly and Arthur quickly appeared at the front door with their wands raised, seeing Harry laying on the ground they lowered their wands.

"Harry dear, whatever are you doing?" Molly asked with what seemed so much like genuine concern that in made Harry's heart ache. "I uh, missed everyone, and you guys weren't replying to my letters, so I though I would come and make sure everything was ok" Harry said, trying to keep the rage of emotions off his face.

"Oh my dear, we were only doing what Dumbledore advised. Now come in and let's get some hot food into you, you look like skin and bones!" She helped him to his feet and wrapped her arm around him, leading him into the house he had long considered his home. He had made an excuse about not feeling well and made his way up to the bedroom, with Hedwig nibbling at his fingers in an attempt to cheer him up he started to finally let his emotions show.

Harry felt like his world was falling apart, everything he had ever know was a lie, the feelings he had previously had about Dumbledore being a puppet master paled in comparison to this new reality, his friends were his enemies. So the question was, what did that make his enemies?

He knew rage would come, and it was definitely there brewing under the surface off sadness and betrayal, he felt numb.

"I wonder if everything Dumbledore ever told me about Voldemort was a lie then also," the question he kept thinking was, did he care? The people who he would have died for were going to send him to his death, things he had always brushed off, like the way the Weasley's first appeared in his life shouting about muggles on Kings cross station, violating at least 2 different statue of secrecy laws. The way Ron choose to sit with him, saying the other compartments were empty. The way large amounts of money were always deducted from his account and whenever he asked about it Dumbledore just brushed it aside.

He needed to know the truth, and he could only think of one person to ask. He pulled out an envelope and began to write,

Voldemort, we need to meet, no this isn't a trap.


End file.
